


Fever

by spowell Count Dracula series (SPowell)



Series: Count Dracula [42]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Vampires, Werewolves, blood-lust, blood-sucking, dark!fic, dub-con, evil!Merlin, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/spowell%20Count%20Dracula%20series
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is weak and in need of Dracula's blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay.

Arthur could not eat, nor could he drink; but he felt a burning hunger that he could not fill. Percy tried raw meat, but the smell of it put Arthur off, and he refused it.

“There are still no fangs,” Percy said, checking Arthur’s mouth. “Perhaps if I cut my arm?”

“I don’t want your blood,” Arthur told him from his bed. He’d become too weak to sit up. “Only the Count’s.”

“We don’t know how long he’ll be away, though. You must have something. Even if it’s only water.” Percy held the glass to Arthur’s lips, but Arthur didn’t want it. Feebly, he pushed it away.

The third day after the caning, Percy’s eyes had dark smudges beneath them when he came to see Arthur. He brought Freya, one of Leander’s daughters, with him.

“He won’t eat.”

Arthur’s head hurt. He couldn’t keep his eyes open.

He felt a soft touch to his head. “He is a little feverish, I think.” Freya’s voice was soft. She was a kind girl—nothing like Leander. A moment later, something cool and damp was placed on Arthur’s forehead. It felt pleasant, and Arthur sighed.

The bed clothes rustled and Arthur felt gentle probing at his balls. “But his stones are not swollen.”

“I feel so guilty,” Percy said.

“My father does as he wishes. You could not have prevented it. I think he is worried himself, though. If Dracula’s blood-mate should die on my father’s watch…”

“Don’t even say such a thing!” Percy growled. Again, Percy lifted Arthur’s head, trying to get him to drink. The water spilled into Arthur’s mouth, and Arthur coughed and sputtered. Turning over, he sank into slumber.

Arthur wasn’t aware of much after that. He remained in bed, only venturing out of it to use the chamber pot in the other room. He wanted the Count’s blood. Needed it. Why wasn’t Dracula back yet? Had something happened to him? In between bouts of nightmare-ridden sleep, Arthur worried.

Arthur’s body ached and burned. He quit getting up to relieve himself—he no longer needed to anyway.

When the beloved voice finally came, Arthur thought it was a dream. It sounded as though it came through miles of water.

He tried to say so aloud but didn’t think he quite managed it.

“A Mea,” Dracula said in a stricken tone.

“A Mea, open your eyes and look at me.”

Arthur struggled to do it. It was like swimming up from the very depths of the ocean.

“There are the bright eyes I cherish,” the Count said softly, his thumb stroking Arthur’s cheek.

“You’re---really here?” Arthur struggled to say, drinking in the sight of the high cheekbones, blue eyes, and voluptuous lips.

“Yes, my love. Percy tells me you have not eaten or had anything to drink in a week.” Dracula smoothed Arthur’s sweaty hair from his brow and kissed him there. Behind him, Arthur’s hazy vision could just make out Percy standing by the bed, wringing his hands.

“I could not,” Arthur said hoarsely. “There’s only one thing I need.”

Dracula made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sob and reached for the small knife on the bedside table. Swiftly, he unbuttoned his shirt and made a cut on his right pectoral, just above the small, dark nipple. “Drink.”

Arthur was too weak to raise his head, so Dracula lay beside him, cradling Arthur within his arms as Arthur fastened his mouth to the bleeding cut, taking in the delicious life source. He sucked greedily, wanting more and more blood. As it poured more freely, Arthur swallowed again and again.

Dracula groaned, laying his head against the pillows, continuing to stroke Arthur’s hair.

“I should not have left you. I didn’t think that you would not eat or drink. The whole ordeal took longer than I thought—I returned as soon as I could. When we rode up, Percy met me at the gates. I almost fell getting up the steps to you. You were unresponsive for a long time.” Dracula’s voice grew raspy with emotion as he spoke into Arthur's hair, telling how many times he’d called to Arthur, trying to rouse him.

Arthur listened as he drank, the Count’s warm flesh pressed to his nose and cheek, the scent of him intoxicating. When Arthur finally began to feel satisfied, he licked at Dracula’s skin, moving down to lap at the stiff nipple below the cut. While he’d been drinking, he’d clutched at Dracula’s robes. Now he moved his hand inside them, under the silk shirt to stroke soft skin over lean muscle.

“Never leave me again,” Arthur said.

Dracula took something from his pocket. “Let me remove the belt.” He shifted Arthur so he could unlock the chastity belt. When the plug came out, Arthur groaned. “A Mea, did you think of me when it pressed inside you?” Dracula asked.

Arthur nodded. He didn’t want to talk about Leander. Dracula obviously didn’t know—Arthur would tell him later. Already, having glutted on the Count’s blood, Arthur felt better. With his lover there beside him, he fell into a peaceful sleep with none of the bad dreams that had tormented him the past few days.

The following morning, Dracula awoke Arthur with a fresh cut. After Arthur had partaken, Arthur offered his neck to Dracula.

“Not until you’re stronger,” Dracula said. “I can wait.” He kissed Arthur gently. “Now let me tell you some things.”

Arthur propped himself on pillows and waited. At some point while Arthur slept, Dracula had undressed and was now lying nude beside Arthur, skin pale against the backdrop of emerald curtains. He drank water from a gold goblet, his signet ring catching the light from the candles over their heads. His ebony hair fell in waves on his head, and his lashes were long and dark as they swept over his cheeks. Arthur thought him beautiful.

“This is going to come as a shock to you, my Dove, so prepare yourself,” the Count said.

“What is it?” Arthur frowned.

“The de Bois tribe—they are large and powerful; that is why we were concerned when we discovered they’d learned the whereabouts of our stronghold. We have no such information on them. This gives them a large advantage over us, understand. You see why I had to go when they summoned me.”

“I was worried about you.”

The Count ran a finger down Arthur’s chest to his navel. “I know, and I am sorry. It was unavoidable.” His eyes met Arthur’s, his hand spreading flat on Arthur’s taut belly. “As you know, I met with the head of the de Bois family—the leader of the tribe.”

Arthur nodded.

“His name is Agravaine.”

“But that’s…”

“Your maternal uncle, yes.”

“You’re saying that my Uncle Agravaine is a vampire?”

Dracula nodded. “The entire de Bois family are vampires, Arthur. They have been for thousands of years.”

“But my mother…”

“Is a vampire.”

“No! She couldn’t be. She died of scarlet fever.”

“That’s what you were told. Think, Arthur.”

Arthur thought. Did he have any proof that his mother was not a vampire? “But my father…I’m sure they had relations. If she were a vampire, would she not have sucked his blood?”

“Almost certainly.”

“There is your proof—my father was not a vampire. If he were, wouldn’t I be?”

“You are most certainly something, Arthur. You were fated to be my blood-mate, and there are things about you—you have not turned the way others would.” The Count took Arthur’s hand. “I am not saying that your father was a vampire, but he wasn’t human, either.”

“Is he dead?” Arthur’s heart grew cold. “If my mother didn’t die of the fever, did he not either? Did you see my mother?”

“I don’t know about your father, but your mother is with her tribe. Agravaine told me this. I did not see her. There were only two with Agravaine—Tristan and a wolf.”

Tristan was Arthur’s other uncle. He’d met him once, long ago. “What did they say? What do they want?”

“They want you.”


End file.
